hello old friend

The way it goes is this:

I break down.

And I don't blog for a while.

Then, I think about blogging for a long while. But to come back from the breakdown is like the change of the seasons, when it's turning from winter to spring and I realize I've forgotten that it can be warm.

I spend time thinking about how to bridge the gap. Blogging is my good friend who probably isn't mad that I haven't called in a while but still seeing her for the first time after that break is sort of awkward and I feel like I need a funny story or something to break the ice.

I think it's because usually my breakdowns follow posts on Big Important Life Stuff and after that I'm not always sure what to say. I mean, Big Important Life Stuff is, well, important and all, but also sometimes you want to post about Paul Boerem because he's just funny.

Which is exactly what I intend to do right now.

The other night as I attempt to drift off to sleep, Paul reaches over and grabs my arm.

"Mmmmffffphhhfffrrrruuuudoingyrnails???" He is both muffled and extraordinarily loud, since he sleeps with earplugs on account of my teeth grinding which I feel very bad about but which I have no control over whatsoever.

"What?"

"Are you doing your nails?"

I want to be mad, but when Paul asks you in the middle of the night in your darkened bedroom if you're painting your nails, it's kind of hard.

"No. No, I'm not."

"Oh. Great, I probably have a tumor."

And he falls right back to sleep. And I should fall back asleep too, but instead I lie awake for a few more minutes chewing on the funny story in my mind like it's bacon or something else delicious.

the time i give myself

I am looking at hairstyles online when Paul finally gets off the phone.

He's always so happy after talking to Kevin. "How is he?" I ask, and Paul smiles and moves his hand in a curve over his belly.

"Kevin got fat?" I ask, and Paul smiles again and shakes his head.

"Ryanne's pregnant again." His smile is the smile of a proud uncle, of a proud brother. And I put on the smile I wear to match his, the smile of a proud aunt, the smile of a barren woman grieving something never lost.

"That's so great!" My voice sounds canned to me, like a recording.

"Wow," I say, "wow."

I walk into the bedroom, and I sit on the orange rocking chair I got Paul for our anniversary. I look out over the rooftops. Before my empty uterus reached up and smacked me in the face I was thinking about doing my Spanish homework, but it is impossible for homework to exist amidst so much pain.

This is stupid, I think. I am happy, I am happy, I am happy. I repeat the words over and over as tears blur my glasses.

There was a talk in General Conference a couple of years ago and it was all about how the Lord remembers us, how we need to hold on, to have faith that we will be blessed. And he quoted the scripture about Rachel, about how God remembers her and she conceives Joseph. I sit in the orange rocking chair and remember that talk. I want for God to remember me, too.

I want to believe that the Lord is preparing something amazing for me, that this is the reason so much time has passed, that this is the reason I am sitting in the orange rocking chair wiping mascara streaks from my face.

Paul walks in, stands beside me, places his hand on my hair. "Are you sad because Ryanne is pregnant?" He asks this in the voice he uses when he is ready to listen, but I remain silent.

He stands beside me for a long time, not pushing my silence.

I don't have an answer to speak, at least not one that's necessary. Paul has been a witness to my waiting. The cat climbs on my lap, and shoves her cold, tiny nose against mine. Paul rubs my neck, and walks back into the living room to watch T.V.

And I sit, in the orange rocking chair I gave Paul for our anniversary. I make a list in my mind of the work to be done, work meant to be done today that I will push to tomorrow. And I give myself this time. This is the time when I can feel the pain. Tomorrow I will tell myself enough now, and I will wash my mind clean of it.

I move from the chair to bed, where I remove my socks and change into my pajamas. As I look up, I can see Paul in the doorway, watching me.



***I wrote this just to witness what I experience, but I really, REALLY want all of you mothers to know how genuinely happy I am for you when you produce a new life. I am especially thinking of my wonderful sisters-in-law who are expecting. Waiting to be a mother is challenging for me, but I never want any of you to feel any guilt on my account. Nothing is better for me than to see women rejoicing in their motherhood.***

society as we know it breaking down

Paul: Can you put more soda in that thing?

Andrea: That thing? Do you mean THAT GLASS?

Paul: Yep.

so deliciously figurative

You can make the scrambled eggs your own.

That's a sentence I heard uttered in my Fiction and Personal narrative course on Tuesday.

I was delighted.

It is, of course, true. You can make scrambled eggs your own. You can do this in a literal and delicious way, and you can do it in a figurative way, which is the way we were discussing in class, because in a Fiction and Personal Narrative course most everything is figurative. Figurative and delicious.

On the first day of class I had the moment I have at the start of any writing class which is the moment where I wonder IF I REALLY BELONG THERE.

I wondered that because I seemed to be the only one who hadn't spent the summer doing immensely important things like backpacking through southeast Asia or living in a commune in Russia or teaching English to orphans in Germany or the like.

And when it was my turn to tell how I had spent my summer months and I proudly bellowed "I WATCHED REALLY BAD SUMMER TV!!! ALSO I HAVE CATS AND I LOVE THEM!!! ALSO A HUSBAND AND I LOVE HIM!!!" that's when I had it, the moment of wondering IF I REALLY BELONG THERE.

But that doesn't really matter, does it? I AM THERE. I am there because I wanted to be there. Because when the girl who spent her summer at the commune in Russia talked about the piece her friend wrote about scrambled eggs and the professor was like "that's so great, because unlike some huge dramatic issue, you can make scrambled eggs your own" I immediately wrote the sentence down, and simultaneously laughed and pondered.

It was figurative and delicious. And I suddenly find myself famished.

the glamorous life of cats

One time in high school I was in my psychology class and we were supposed to say what animal we would be if we had to pick and I totally picked a cat because they they live so luxuriously, you know?

I mean, eating, sleeping all day, being groomed, fed, stroked, and, if you happen to be our cats, having your glamour shot taken....

I can explain. (Should I feel like I have to explain?) I needed a headshot for work, so our buddy Jake (who also did my blog design and is kind of a genius) did me a solid and took my picture. And then he took pictures of our cats.

And when Jake emailed me the pictures I totally went "GHAAAAAA OUR CATS ARE SO CUTE!!!", totally not realizing that I had just uttered the secret password inducting me into the Crazy CatLady Club and this morning I woke up wearing a sweatshirt screenprinted with their faces.

I'll be much more careful next time I get emailed pictures of our cats. Words are powerful things, you know?

a changed woman

I'm growing my hair out.

Again.

I do this every couple of years, this hair-growing-out thing. I mean, I love short hair and all, but something just comes over me, this immediate and all consuming need for a luscious blanket of hair that can be tied back or braided or pulled up or left swinging down my back.

And so I decide to grow my hair out.

Again.

The thing is, I'm a compulsive hair-cutter. And just as surely as I will feel the need for a ponytail, I will also feel the need to CHOP CHOP CHOP.

It's a vicious cycle.

Paul's been so patient. Deep down he's a long hair man, but he puts up with my ever changing locks like a champ. Every time I announce my intent to become a Rapunzel, he dances a jig, and every time I come back from Reagan's salon with an adorable short 'do he tells me he likes it, even though he's never understood my compulsive need to CHOP CHOP CHOP.

But this time is different. I'm a changed woman, I swear. I'm on my knees here, with flowers and chocolate and a jar full of mea culpas and stuff.

You're probably wondering why you should believe me. And I don't blame you. The thing is, Reagan has been given strict instructions not to CHOP CHOP CHOP. And Paul has been advised as well. And I have thrown away all my scissors and I'm strictly forbidden to look at cute short cuts on InStyle and WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT FROM ME, PEOPLE?

Geez. I said I'm growing it out already, alright?

Oh, uh, sorry. I get so cranky when I'm going through hair-cutting withdrawals.

sunday looks like this

 

 

 

 

Yesterday in nursery was awesome.

Two words:

Toilet.

Naked.

Yep.

So, our adorable Ella has graduated to the world of toilet-trained humans (an achievement worthy of fanfare, to my mind)and after snack time she proudly announced that she had to, um, go.

So, she went.

We have a little bathroom in our nursery with a kiddie-sized toilet. And I think this must have been Ella's first time using it, because the minute she closed the door she yelled out "HEY GUYS THIS TOILET IS JUST THE RIGHT SIZE!!!"

Which was fantastic.

I mean, spread the word, right?

And then later it was time to color and so I handed out papers and was like "Okay, you can draw a picture of anything! Maybe make it something you're thankful for, like your family, or something like that...."

And as Ella carefully selected her allotted two crayons she stated "I AM GOING TO DRAW A PICTURE OF MY MOM NAKED."

Which was fantastic.

So, Ella drew a picture of her mom, naked. And when her dad came to pick her up, just to make sure he appreciated her artistic vision, she said "THIS IS A PICTURE OF MOM NAKED."

I. LOVE. NURSERY.

friday loverly

Hey, guys!! Today I am so excited for you to meet my good friend Katie, who is without a doubt one of my favorite people I've met here in NYC. Katie is brilliant, hilarious, and CRAZY SUPER TALENTED when it comes to writing. As soon as she gets a job at The New Yorker, I'm signing up as her first groupie. Check out her blog, Long Story Short, at http://www.katemcneil.com. Take it away, Katie!

I'm really flattered (and slightly embarrassed!) that Andrea wanted to feature me on her blog. Here goes nothing:

1. You've got an incredible ability to capture the humorous/ridiculous in such a witty way. What's your writing process like? Are you immediately struck with an idea for a piece, or do you need time to review a day's events?

I try to find humor in the everyday. (Jerry Seinfeld is my hero in that regard.) Most often an idea will strike immediately. You know what I'm talking about: you're in a bathroom stall, buying flowers, or singing a song on the radio and you think, "Oh, this is so blog worthy." When that thought pops in, I'll whip out my phone and jot down the idea in a "to blog" note. If it's a really good idea, I'll start writing sentences in my head. Often inspiration comes late at night too. I never, ever write just because I feel a nagging need to update my blog. Those posts are always so obviously forced and sterile. But if you're not taking life too seriously, you'll always have something funny to write about.

2. You've got a hilarious husband. How does being married to Cameron influence/inspire your writing style?

Not a day goes by that I don't laugh with Cameron. And with 4+ years married, that means a lot of material! His easygoing attitude is the perfect balance to my neuroticism. Some of my favorite posts about Cameron are the one about the swimsuit issue, the one about his fleece jacket, and the one about the little league world series. I love that guy.

3. Guilty pleasure?

Candy, sleeping in, YouTube-ing French bulldog videos, following Internet memes on The Daily What and Buzzfeed while working, never leaving Uniqlo without buying something, and last but not least, Don Draper! The thing is, I never feel guilty about doing any of this.

4. What was teenage Katie like? I was nerdy girl, so....would we have been friends? Or would you have been totally making fun of me for my navy blue wide-leg shorts and hair-sprayed bangs?

Teenage Katie was very shy and insecure and some of that still lingers into adulthood. I didn't have my first kiss until I was 17! Reading back through my journals I was pretty angsty and confused and often wrote about the pressure to measure up to my siblings. I gained confidence through sports (volleyball) and writing (school newspaper). I was really lucky to have some very, very close friends that stuck with me through high school.

If I wasn't at volleyball practice, you would probably find me in front of a computer, downloading songs on Napster or chatting on AIM. I always loved the Internet. My shyness never hindered my online personality. I could be creative and witty through chatting and emailing in ways I could never be face-to-face. To this day I feel much more myself writing an email or blog post vs. talking on the phone or in person.


5. Strangest New York sighting?

So many! I saw a pirate walking out of the new Trader Joe's in Chelsea just the other day. One time I saw a homeless guy eating paint on the subway to get high. Literally, white paint dripping down his mouth and beard. That was really sad. I saw a chicken cross the road in Brooklyn. I've seen lots of public urination. A guy wearing a thong and heels at the Village Halloween parade. Countless old women with crooked drawn-on eyebrows and lipstick extending almost to the base of their nose. Lots of lap dogs in strollers. Rats, rats, more rats. New York = more blog fodder you could ever need!

hip hip hooray!!!

Hey so guess what?

You'll never guess.

WE'RE APPROVED FOR ADOPTION!!!

(WHAAAAAAAA, HOOOOOOOOOO, AHHHHHHHHH, CLAPPING)

Now, give us a baby.

Thank you.

it's tired in here

Sometimes when you're a productive member of society, you get tired.

Just saying.

a productive member of society

I got a job.

Remember when I told you about my perky and adorable friend Sarah, the Workout Genie? Well, I got a part-time job as a receptionist at Physique 57, the workout studio she instructs at.

I've been training every day for the past week, which explains the whole lotta nothing that's been happening on Bloggy Blog. Crickets chirping. Tumbleweeds rolling. Sorry, blog.

Hooray for being a productive member of society!! When I get my first paycheck I'm taking that Paul Boerem out for a real nice meal.

two weddings and a brawl (best. party. ever.)

WE'RE BACK!!!!!

I had a ten day fling with California, and now I'm all ready to be faithful to NYC, even if it is like a million degrees and super humid out here.

There's just no place like hot, stinky, humid home.

So, the main reason for our visit to Cali were two weddings: a co-worker of Paul's, and MY LITTLE SISTER WHO I CAN'T BELIEVE GOT MARRIED OH MY GOSH I SWEAR SHE'S STILL LIKE TWELVE WEARING A PURPLE CASIO WRISTWATCH HOLY COW WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN I TOTALLY CAN'T BELIEVE IT.

Right.

So, to give adequate attention to each event, here I will focus solely on the nuptials of Paul's co-worker, Alli. Who is one of the sweetest, hardest working, and prettiest girls ever.

To start with, this wedding was SUPER CRAZY FANCY. I'm not sure if the capital letters adequately convey just how fancy this soiree actually was. I mean, it was at the BEVERLY HILLS BAY RIDGE COUNTRY CLUB. THERE WAS A BEACH LIKE RIGHT THERE. LIKE WE WERE PRACTICALLY ON THE WATER. LIKE SHE ALMOST GOT MARRIED ON A BOAT.

Yes, that fancy.

So, Paul and I were all dolled up and we watched Alli get married and it was sweet and beautiful and then we ate lots of appetizers and they were delicious and then we were eating dinner and THAT'S WHEN THE BRAWL STARTED.

I mean, we're just sitting there, eating our fancy fish and our fancy steak and drinking our fancy water and talking about fancy wedding stuff and then there's this HUGE CRASH and we turn around and there's this man at the table next to us and he's got blood dripping down his face because the lady sitting next to him SMASHED A WINE GLASS OVER HIS HEAD.

Uh huh. Smashed. Glass. On the head.

And then people are yelling and rushing at each other and some do-gooders pull them off each other and everyone rushes outside except for this one guy who stays at the table and finishes his dinner which I totally don't blame him for because that fancy steak was really, really good.

I'm pretty sure as all this went on I was staring, open-mouthed and grinning. I don't think I even tried to stop myself.

We then spent the rest of the night attempting to get the back-story, which goes something like this:

Democrat. Republican. Mean words. More mean words. Even more mean words. Glass smashing.

And the cops come and handcuff the lady (who did the smashing) and they take her away to the clink and the dude who got smashed just keeps hanging out at the reception, with his head all bandaged up like he just had brain surgery or something.

And then, you know, they cut the cake. Business as usual, right?

BEST. PARTY. EVER.

out to lunch

I'm being a sporadic blogger because I am currently on vacation in beautiful, sunny, non-humid California.

We'll be out here until the end of the month.

I am in love with California right now. Ssssshhh, don't tell New York.

i best a toilet

The toilets at the the Lincoln Center Loews Movie Theater are out to get me.

I'm not being paranoid, I swear. It's true. Every time I walk into the restroom there, one of the toilets yells "WE GOT US AN ANDREA BOEREM. CODE RED. THE OWL FLIES AT MIDNIGHT. STAT."

They're organized, these toilets. I thought my parents were great at presenting a united front, but these toilets give them a run for their money. I mean, THE SAME THING HAPPENS EVERY TIME. I walk in, I select a stall, close and lock the door, and proceed to prep the area. I hang my purse on the hook, check for any unsanitary evidence that could change my choice of stalls, and I remove a paper toilet seat cover from the dispenser on the wall.

And that's when the fun begins.

I place the cover on the seat. I begin to, ah, ready myself for seating, and then the automatic flusher goes off and the cover is promptly swished right off the seat.

So, I stand back up, remove another seat cover, place it oh-so-gently on the seat, go in for landing, and, once again, the automatic flusher flushes.

GHAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!! AAAAARRRRRRGGGHHHH!!!!!!!!

This sequence of events then repeats itself until I either get fed up and practice being a hovercraft, or until I get fast enough to beat the automatic flusher. You guess which option usually wins.

Well, yesterday Paul and I took ourselves down to Lincoln Center to see the movie Inception (which was visually stunning, by the by) and I drank like five gallons of water on the way there on account of it being like a million degrees outside and by the time we got there...well, I had to, uh, go.

I choose my stall, (closest to the wall = less room for strangers to peek through cracks) pull out a seat cover, and take a huge breath.

Gently, ever so gently, I place the tissue over the seat. Nothing. The breath I've been holding whooshes out. I am about to

AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!GHAAAAAARRRRRRHHHHHHH!!!!

And then that porcelain devil laughs, I tell you. Laughs right out loud.

So, I muster all my speediness, grab a cover, and in a movement so precise, so sharply timed as to be almost invisible, I place the cover and sit, triumphant.

I laugh. Right out loud.

And then I step up to the podium to accept my gold medal in Olympic Bathroom Speediness.

friday loverly

So I was thinking of what I should blog about and then I was like hey, I know lots of people who make me feel really squishy and happy inside, maybe I could just brag about them.

And that's exactly what I aim to do.

So, here's my first blog spotlight: Ladies and gents, I give you....

REAGAN BREINHOLT!!!!! (OOOOOOHHHHHH, AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH, MAJOR CLAPPING)

In addition to writing a delightful blog (which can be found at http://www.reagansblob.com/), Reagan is also an amazing hairstylist, mom to the incredible Piper, wife to the talented Jake, has a brain filled with silliness and sunshine, and has an uncanny knack for all things stylish.

Reagan's daughter Piper was born with Cerebro Costo Mandibular Syndrome and has never been able to come home, but Reagan has dealt with the related challenges in a manner that can only be described as amazing. Hooray, Reagan!

Here's a little interview with the lady herself:

Q: Reagan, you're one of the most stylish people I know. What are some pieces of yours you're really digging right now?

A: Thanks! Woohoo hooray! This question is easy. My clogs. They are so comfortable and I am currently living in them. I took a nap in them the other day and never even noticed! In fact, I woke up satisfied and better rested knowing I looked cuter and taller in my sleep with them on. My two favorite are my black sunset sandals from madewell and my miz mooz hazel sandals in cognac. Did you hear that i sleep in them? Yes? I love them so much. BTW miz mooz is my best kept secret for shoes.

Q: How do you come up with your outfits? Do you try on a bunch of stuff? Do you just get a lightening bolt of a super awesome idea?

A: I do both. I will sometimes try on 20 outfits because it bothers me all day when I don't like what I'm wearing. That sounds really shallow, but getting dressed is one of my favorite things to do! I love to put things together, hooray!

As for the lightening bolt, sometimes Jake will be talking to me about life and just when he thinks I listened real hard, I actually just lightening bolted my new favorite outfit in my head! Sorry Jake, what, do you want me to lie about it?

Also, I definitely get inspiration from my favorite people too. Alexa Chung is my favorite dresser in the world, i try to not just copy, but she's made me more open minded to trying things on in different sizes instead of what fits like a glove. She also gets me wanting to mix less femanine pieces with my heels and girlier items. I love her for that.



Q: I love watching you with your daughter, Piper. Do you have any advice for parents of special-needs kids on how to maintain a positive attitude? (maybe this is a lame question, but I just love how sunshiney you are, and while I've seen you on your bad days, you're always able to pull out of it, and I think that's a huge talent.)

A: Thanks! My best advice is simple: make a huge deal out of the small things. It is just like anything else in life, choosing to focus on the good can really manipulate your actual feelings. Things are really hard some times, but Piper Jane is such a hoot! She lives far away and has never come home, but have you seen her cute little piper hiney-bum? She has to be on a ventilator and that is just a huge nuisance in my opinion, but sometimes she smiles and giggles...and I'm pretty much done for at that point.

It's not easy, and I can get extremely overwhelmed when I start to pick it all apart, but that little pip of a pipsqueak has made my life much better. And cuter. And also a little smellier, but that's alright.

Q: You've also got a huge flair for all things silly. What's it like inside your brain? I'm dying to know!!

A: So silly that I can't even finish this sentence.

But seriously, it's pretty fun in there. Cindy Lauper narrates! Don't be jeal!

Q: Guilty pleasure?

A: This is awkward....the real housewives of new jersey. (crickets chirping)
And big brother.
And sugar too, but I'm working on that.

Wasn't that fun? Isn't she great? Hooray, Reagan! Everyone have a loverly Friday, okay?

one step closer to sleepless nights

Today I turned in the last little form needed for us to be approved for adoption.

CAN I GET A HALLELUJAH?

Thanks.

Now, we just wait two weeks for the agency board to meet and formally approve us as an adoptive couple, and then we will go into a nation-wide database and people can look us up and stuff.

So....more waiting. But it's a different kind of waiting. A good kind of waiting.

YIPPEE!!

On The Rocks - Bad Romance - 4/23/10

Okay, watch this video.

NOW.

Did you watch it? DID YOU?

I love it. I love it because it combines my love for nerdy drama-class-ish stuff with, well, Lady Gaga.

One time I was talking to my little brother and I was all "I love Lady Gaga" and he laughed and then was like "Oh...you were serious..." and I was like "YOU BETCHA I'M SERIOUS BECAUSE SHE'S CRAZY AWESOME".

So, I think what I'm saying is WATCH THIS VIDEO.

NOW.

P.S. Big thank you to my friend Leslie for sending me this link. Watching this video turns me into a three year old. Serious. I laugh and clap and then I'm like "AGAIN!!!"

sunday looks like this (when paul is there)

 

 

 

 

I think the real showstopper here is sweet little Addi mining for gold while holding a little red firetruck. Addi is the mom of the bunch, always sharing, helping clean up...this kid is a gem!

She's on vacay right now and I think she knew we would miss her times fifty, so she wrote us what I am quite confident is THE CUTEST LETTER EVER WRITTEN (dictation taken by mom):

Paul and Andrea-

Bye. I'm visiting my grandma this summer and will miss you. I have fun playing, dancing, jumping, blowing bubbles, playing with toys, playing games, duck duck goose, playing jump inside the circle, singing, and learning about Jesus in Nursery. Andrea I like when you read me stories. Paul I like to climb on you. And I like to snuggle with Paul and Andrea. I like to give big snuggles. Thank you for being my best teachers and my good teachers. I like to hold babies and play at the park. I like to paint and color in Nursery. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I will see you when I get back from my grandma's house.

Love,

Addi

Okay, did you melt? Are you a puddle? If you didn't melt, you're probably the Ice Queen from Narnia, FYI.

BECAUSE THAT IS CUTE.

this is where i post more pictures

 

 

 

 

Okay, so, more bridal shower pics. See the one of my mom (in the middle) with my Aunt Cindy and her BFF Debbie? Aren't they cute? Don't you just want to wrap them up in a Nutella covered pancake and eat them for a snack? No? Just me?

You will of course note the pic of my sister, the stunningly beautiful brunette having a ribbon-covered plate attached to her head. Lovely, no?

And then there's Paul and myself posing in front of the muscle car. You're probably looking at that picture and thinking "Wow, she totally doesn't look like she's about to have a full-blown hormonal meltdown in a public place because Paul didn't follow her dad on the drive like he was supposed to", and you'd be right. I don't look like that at all. More on that later.

Also, Paul? You there? I love you forever times fifty and thanks for still liking me even after I throw a public tantrum.

Really, thanks. (That tantrum was a baddie.)

i return triumphant

 

 

 

 

I have returned.

Triumphant.

Why? Because I, Andrea Boerem, threw a bridal shower for my sister Miriam, and IT WAS CUTE. My super-talented friend Nicole helped me, so that's probably why it was so cute. I swear, it's like everything she touches turns cute. Like you'd pick up some crazy ugly vase and be all "this vase is ugly" and then Nicole would pick it up and you'd be all "nope, it just turned cute..."

And, completely unrelated to cuteness, is the car that Paul rented. A bright blue mustang. There's just something about a mustang that makes you want to drape yourself all over the hood and pose sexy-like, so I had to restrain myself. Also I may or may not have a picture of me riding a Segway. More pics to follow.

I think that about covers it: cuteness, mustang, Segway, we're back.

Hiya.

Harriet's Pet Pea

Smories - new stories for children, read by children


Yay! Here's my story!

If you read it and it doesn't make you puke or anything then maybe you could send it to more peoples and then maybe I'll win something and I can finally buy that industrial size life raft I've been saving up for.

Also I heart you guys.

Also that.

hello, utah

Hello, Utah.

We're going to visit you this week. If you could please make sure that you are not humid in the slightest (and that should not be a problem) I would greatly appreciate it.

Also if you could tell everyone to be extra nice (and that should not be a problem) we will come back to the big city and tell everyone how nice all your people are and who doesn't like a little good PR?

Thanks for having pretty mountains and also for being a home to some of my favorite people.

Tell American Fork I say hi. I was born there, so I think she knows me.

i heart being an aunt

So, have I ever told you how much I love being an aunt?

Well, I love it. My nephew Q is a genius, and he's the handsomest and I think he's already been contacted by Mensa and he's got a modeling contract and a book deal and I LOVE HIM.

I'm going to need to make some room in my heart, though, because MY BROTHER DAVID IS GOING TO BE A DAD!!!

Hooray, babies!!

I heart being an aunt.

an affair to remember (a brief encounter with bacon)

Yesterday I ate bacon, with scrambled eggs and cheese.

It was magical.

I hadn't had bacon with scrambled eggs and cheese for quite some time. Probably because we broke up a little while ago. I mean, we had GREAT chemistry, but I found out that bacon was clogging my arteries, him and his friends eggs and cheese, and I was all like "I love you but you're bad for me" and then bacon was all "You'll be back" and I was like "No way...but probably...."

And that was that.

But yesterday I got home from the gym and I heard the siren call of bacon as it wafted over from Vicky's diner, and all of a sudden it was of the utmost importance that I find myself sitting in front of a sizzling plate of bacon-y love AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.

I didn't even look at the menu. No need. I ordered, and sat with a watering mouth as I waited.

It was like I was cheating on my current diet. Like I had left the house and kissed my diet goodbye and promised to be good and then there I was, checking in to the Crazy Eights Motel wearing dark glasses and drooling nervously as I waited for bacon to saunter in.

"Well, hello," bacon said, "I knew you'd be back."

"You smell amazing! How I've missed you....your smell, your sizzle, that cute way you crunch....whatever happened between us?"

"Ah, I believe you left me for tofu and whole wheat bread."

"Right, right....sorry....so, we don't have much time...."

And I picked up my fork.

I stumbled back into the apartment smelling slightly oily, with a grease stain on my collar.

I do hope my current diet doesn't notice.

the nerdy mermaid

Well, here it is. Proof for all the world to see that I, Andrea Boerem, did dress up as a mermaid, ride the subway in said mermaid outfit, and march in the Coney Island Mermaid Parade. I'm the nerdy mermaid in glasses and polka dots. I gotta say, wearing fins made me feel quite mermaid-chic.

One of my fellow mermaids is blessed with a boyfriend who will do just about anything on a dare, and who consented to dress up as our mermaid butler and carry the cookies we baked. I think he kinda makes the group, don't you?

And look at how lovely my fellow mermaids are!! Doesn't Reagan look like Marilyn Monroe?

What an experience! What a very lot of drunk guys yelling "Hey mermaid! Gimme a cookie to go with my beer" there were!

Aaaaaaaaaahhhh. Good memories. Good memories.

p.s. Big thank-you to Jake for taking the pictures. Didn't he do a great job? When you dress up as a mermaid, photo-journalistic integrity is definitely a priority.

i am in love with a future dad

I want to post some pictures from nursery, but the computer gods aren't letting me. I think I'm being punished. So, no pics right now.

Since today is a day for fathers, I want to shout from the rooftops my greatgreat love for my own father, and for my wonderful father-in-law, who are both prime examples of incredible dads.

But really, REALLY, I want to say that I am in love with this guy named Paul and someday he is going to be an amazing dad.

So, HAPPY FATHERS DAY, PAUL!!!

He gets so shy when the spotlight is on him. But I don't care.

I'm in love with a future dad.

hans christian andersen, eat your heart out

Hey, so guess what I'm doing tomorrow?

Oh, you know, wake up, feed the cats, eat some breakfast, and then DRESS UP LIKE A MERMAID AND MARCH IN THE CONEY ISLAND MERMAID PARADE.

In other words, the usual.

My friend Reagan is mildly obsessed with mermaids, and ever since she attended the parade last year, she's been dreaming of having a pair of fins all her own.

So, a few of us are joining her. Since we're not quite as exhibitionist as some, we're going to be 1950's -ish housewife mermaids, and wear aprons over our fins. We're even going to hand out home-baked cookies.

Can. Not. Wait.

donuts are the only answer

Paul's having a bad day.

He worked last night, and when I woke up this morning, Paul was sitting on the chair in our bedroom, looking like he might puke, or cry, or maybe both.

Maybe I'm exaggerating. But not much.

One of the nurse practitioners is moving back to Israel and leaving Paul with the undesirable task of re-working the entire schedule. Paul tends to be a fatalist, so if things are bad, THEY ARE VERY, VERY BAD AND PROBABLY WON'T GET BETTER EVER EVER.

I, however, am not a fatalist, but an optimist, so with me if things are bad THEY ARE ONLY GOING TO BE BAD FOR A LITTLE WHILE AND YOU'LL BE SO MUCH STRONGER AFTER AND YOU SHOULD PET THE KITTIES AND HAVE A HUG AND EVERYTHING WILL BE BETTER.

We go well together.

So, Paul spent most of the morning making noises that sounded a lot like "AAAAARRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH", while I made noises that sounded a lot like "AAAAAAAAAWWWWWWW".

So, we met some friends at The Donut Plant, because I always say nothing pulls you out of a downward spiral like a little refined white sugar. Our friends have this baby named Violet and she's awesome and we're totally best friends and you might be thinking why am I telling you this now but don't worry, you'll see.

So we ate our donuts and Paul started to look a little less like he might die, which made me pretty happy, only I made the mistake of asking him how he was feeling and I got an "AAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGHHHH"

This was surprising because he had the creme brulee donut and the chocolate blackout donut which is, I think, equal to like a double dose of anti-depressants, so obviously more work was needed and then Paul was all like

"LET ME HOLD THAT BABY" and he said it the way I would imagine you might say "I NEED WATER OR I WILL DIE" and Jen magnanimously handed over Violet, who promptly grabbed Paul's beard and began cooing.

It worked like a charm. After a few minutes of tossing a squealing Violet up in the air and after a large pepperoni and sausage pizza and a trip to Murray's Cheese Shop, things seem to be looking up for Paul.

I'm thinking of asking Jen if we could hire Violet on retainer. You never know when you might need a cute baby to cuddle.

the flip side doesn't work

Today, I acted as tour guide for a choral group from Tampa, Florida. I took them to the Statue of Liberty.

And I have to say they were adorably nerdy. And I also have to say, I LOVE NERDS. I love them. The more awkward, the more better. The more pimples, the more braces, the more Lord of the Rings trivia....it just melts me. I want to pick them up and put them in my pocket.

When Paul got home, I told him all about it.

"They were just so nerdy, especially a couple of the boys...I love them. I think I love them so much because I AM A HUGE NERD."

Paul grinned.

"I don't think that would work on the flip side, would it? Like if I said, I just really love six-foot tall blonds because I AM ONE?"

Cheeky Paul.

No, Paul. that doesn't so much work.

calling all stylish utahns

Okay, I need some help:

I'm throwing my sister a bridal shower. In Utah. In like four weeks.

HEEEEEEELLLLLLP!!!!!!!

Are you from Utah? Are you a genius? Do you have the magical ability to make stuff look like a million bucks when it actually cost next to nothing?

Oh, good. You're exactly who I'm looking for.

Any ideas? We'll probably be inviting around 15-20 people, and there's a good chance it will need to be on a Thursday evening, although a Saturday morning with all its brunch-y potential is much more preferable.

Miriam is incredibly awesome, inspiring, and endlessly sweet, and I'd like to throw her a shower to match her awesomeness. She's a little less modern and a little more romantic, so I'm thinking something kind of homemade and sweet and simple.

I thought a picnic would be awesome, but on a Thursday night I'm not sure that would work,and I thought maybe Ruth's Diner or the Tin Roof Cafe, but I'm not sure if 15-20 is too many people for something like that.

So, if you have any ideas.....I HEART YOU!!! I HEART YOU FOREVER!!! I HEART YOU TIMES FIFTY WITH A CHERRY ON TOP AND A PONY!!!!

Uh.....thanks.

paul and i agree to disagree

Guess what Paul did yesterday?

Go ahead, guess.

You'll never guess. Although I kinda want to know what you're guessing.

Okay, I'll tell you.

He went to a workout class with me.

I KNOW! I didn't think he would, either. Ever since I started going to my friend Sarah's workout studio, I've been telling Paul he should come with me, so he can have a birds-eye view of the torture I willingly submit to on a tri-weekly basis.

I'd be all like "You should totally come with me", and he'd be all like "Yeah, um, sure...maybe....sometime...." which I understood to mean "Not ever ever in a million years but I want you to feel validated".

And then, yesterday, he was like "Maybe I'll go with you today" and I was like "YES! COME WITH ME! IT WILL BE AWESOME!!! OHMYGOSH IT'S SO HARD!!! LET'S TALK ABOUT OUR FEELINGS!!!" (I get over-enthusiastic. I blame it on my lady-parts.)

So, he went with me, discovered that it was, indeed, super duper difficult, and announced that he had no use whatsoever for "those" types of exercises.

By "those" he means all the toe-pointing, draw a circle with your foot, hold your leg out at an angle and lift it slightly like a million times in a row exercises.

"When do you ever need to know how to do that? What purpose do those exercises serve?" he asked.

"They make my butt look nice" I said.

"But why? I NEVER NEED TO KNOW HOW TO DRAW A CIRCLE IN THE AIR WITH MY FOOT" he ranted, "but when do I need to run around people? Every day. When do I want to punch someone? Every. Other. Minute." He spoke slowly, reverently, with tremendous emphasis.

"I just want my butt to look nice" I said.

Paul glanced appreciatively at my derriere and, with that, we agreed to disagree.

cats aren't perfect

There's something wrong with our cats.

They won't stop making more fur and then shedding that fur.

This could be a problem. Except for they are just SO DARN CUTE. And except for we love them forever and think they are superior to all other cats.

Except for the fur thing.

Good grief, cats. We've got tumbleweeds rolling around our apartment. Paul's walking around with the Dirt Devil at his hip like it's a gun.

It's kinda sexy.

I guess I have our cats to thank.

paul's shopping list

"I'm going to Target" I said. "There's a list on the table. Write down what you need."

And so, Paul wrote down what he needed:

Nipple rings, blue or pink (if available)

Thong underwear, green or black (if available)

That Paul's a funny guy.

yippee- i-o-ki-yay

A week ago, I submitted a story for an online competition.

And today, I got an email telling me that my story has been shortlisted, and will go live on the website on July 1st. I think prizes are awarded sometime in August.

And I'm excited.

I told Paul and then we spent a few minutes running around in circles grinning. The website, called Smories, is based in the U.K. and specializes in stories geared towards children. You can view the stories for the previous competition by going to
http://www.smories.com/.

My story is about a girl named Harriet, who takes a pea as a pet. Maybe I'll post it. You'll be able to see it on the Smories website on July 1st.

Yippee!

Also, happy Friday. It's hot as blazes out here. Also that.

a conversation while watching so you think you can dance

Paul: Sometimes when I'm really happy I jump up so high I almost hit the ceiling.

Andrea: Yeah. Me, sometimes when I'm happy I do a triple-back-hand-jump-stand. And also it's hard because I'm just so pretty.

Paul: Yeah. I'm so pretty, too.

Andrea: It's just that we're both so pretty.

a body is a nice thing to have

I don't always feel that way.

I mean, don't get me wrong, this whole being alive and kicking thing is nice and all, but lately I've kind of been feeling a little mad at my body.

That kind of comes with the territory when you're dealing with infertility. My body doesn't do what it's supposed to, which is produce offspring. Spawn. Chillins. Childstuffs. Kiddy-pies.

And while I've tried to remind myself of the many other wonderful things the good Lord has blessed me with, as the years wear on and my womb remains a barren wasteland, I find myself getting kinda cranky with my body.

When I say cranky, I MEAN cranky. I'm all like "Uh, Body? Are you kidding me? I SERIOUSLY CAN'T WEAR MY PANTS?" and my body's all like "Uh, Andrea, remember when you pumped me all full of hormones and then ate twenty pints of Ben and Jerry's?" and then I'm all like "Oh...right, so....never mind."

But the cranky me hasn't been hanging around as much since, lately, I've been exercising.

Originally I began exercising because I just really, really wanted to be able to fit into my pants. Maybe I told you it was because I want to be healthy, and healthy is good, but so is wearing your pants.

More than that, though, I just felt like I had to DO SOMETHING. With capital letters. Accomplish something. Have something to show.

And so I've been exercising. And at first I think I expected my body to immediately shrink to a svelte, rock-hard celebrity-esque silhouette. Which didn't so much happen.

I'm actually kind of awful at this whole exercise thing. I'm clumsy and I sweat profusely and it hurts and it hurts and it hurts.

But one day as I engaged in my bi-weekly battle with the treadmill, I was filled with this overwhelming and immediate, all-consuming gratitude for a body with the capacity for work, for action.

And isn't that just a ridiculous sort of miracle, that I have a body that can move and bend and sweat, however awkwardly?

I still can't wear my pants. I still don't have kids. But my body is building a strength already known to my mind and soul.

Thanks, body. Sorry I yelled at you.

a hefty dose of retro mushy

Paul: You are the bee's knees.

Andrea: You are the cat's pajamas.

We're so retro when we get mushy.

the shameless exploitation of gilly

Before I took this picture Gilly was all like "Meow meow meee-ow" which roughly translates to "I resent your exploiting of my cat-ishness for your own amusement" and I was all like "I don't care, because you look really funny right now".

I kind of love how Gilly looks in this picture. I imagine her saying things like "Gimme another sasparilla, human".

Sorry for exploiting you, Gilly.

Not really, though. I actually really enjoyed exploiting you and I fully intend on exploiting you in the future.

virtue has triumphed

You might not believe this.

I'm going to tell you anyway.

I made a batch of chocolate chip cookies a few days ago. (That's not the part you won't believe. Here it comes.) Guess how many I've had?

One.

I KNOW!!

I wouldn't believe it either, except for I'm the one who's been gazing longingly at the remaining goodies whilst I suck on limey popsicles.

It's a small victory. I feel like celebrating.

Maybe with a cookie.

**** Five minutes later ****

Addendum: I have now had only two cookies.

the sound of my broken brain

Today, at approximately two-thirty p.m., my brain stopped working.

It just plain stopped. Just like that. Like the wheels were turning, synapses were firing, thoughts were translated into words - you know, the whole working-brain deal. I had one. A working brain, I mean.

And then I sat down to blog, and my brain stopped.

I'm pretty sure there was a clanking sound, and then a squeak and a thud and then there was nothing.

Come on, I thought. Pull yourself together. You have thoughts.

But I didn't. No thoughts.

I tried the whole if-you-build-it-he-will-come thing where I sat down at the computer and started typing, but I could barely manage to squeeze out a couple of sentences before my brain would do that squeaking thud thing and my fingers stopped working and I had to have a couple pieces of chocolate to recover.

Really, Andrea, I thought. REALLY. YOU HAVE NOTHING TO DO TODAY. WRITE SOMETHING.

Squeak, my brain replied. SQUEAK SQUEAK THUD.

I rose up in defiance. I returned to my computer, shoulders squared, fingers prepared to ping out something brilliant, like a haiku for bacon, or a really detailed description of the hairball Sissy coughed up.

But before I could make it to my computer the mailman delivered a postcard from my brain that said WILL BE OUT OF SERVICE INDEFINITELY, PLEASE EXCUSE THE INCONVENIENCE.

Oh, well. At least my non-functioning brain is polite.

dear jack bauer

Hi! I'm your number one fan! But not in a creepy Kathy Bates kind of way! Now that 24 is over I'm not sure what to do with the gaping void in my Monday nights! Maybe I will try knitting! Or take a self defense class! Or apply for a job at CTU! So, the series finale was pretty great! Especially when you bit that guy's ear off! If I ever met you I don't know if I could be held responsible for my actions! Like I might yell really loud JACK BAUER!!!! SNAP MY NECK WITH YOUR LEGS!!! SNAP MY NECK WITH YOUR LEGS!!! Remember when you shot that guy in the leg in season two? That was awesome! Also remember when you bit that guy in the neck in season five? That was really gross and also maybe kind of awesome! My excessive use of exclamation marks is the only way I can adequately express my extreme devotion! Also I have a T-shirt with your face on it!

Sincerely,

Andrea Boerem

sunday looks like this

Sometimes when you're in nursery you get really excited and you start to flip chairs over and then your teacher tells you not to and you read a book instead. But really what you want is to flip chairs over.

piper is the one we love

Today is Piper's birthday.

Who is Piper, you ask? Well, I'll tell you. Piper is my friend Reagan's daughter. And she's kind of awesome. If you don't know Reagan already, you should. Everyone needs a bright shiny lovely person like Reagan to know. You can read her delightfully Reagan-ish musings at http://www.reagansblob.com/. You won't be sorry.

Happy birthday, Piper!! You are the one we love!!

a desperate plea

Paul: (gesturing to a nearly empty bottle of Dr. Pepper) If you love me, make this better. IF YOU LOVE ME MAKE THIS BETTER!!!"

the artist formerly known as buttercup

Notice anything about this picture? Like maybe a pair of wide kitty eyes staring at you?

This is our cat, Gilly. She was originally named Buttercup, but we re-christened her Gilly when we realized that Buttercup didn't sound nearly mischievous enough.

Gilly is one of those multifaceted cats. She demands more from life than napping and birdwatching; I mean, she's as subject to biological impulses as any feline, but she wants to REALLY LIVE, you know? And for Gilly, REALLY LIVING means a fondness for Q-tips, an insatiable drive to sit on anything that should not ever ever be sat on, and, because she is a girl, makeup.

Gilly loves makeup.

Every morning when I go through my daily ritual of making myself not look like a swamp monster, Gilly accompanies me. She perches on the edge of the bathtub, and keeps careful watch over my makeup brushes.

She's conflicted, I think; she can't decide if she'd like me to teach her how to pluck her eyebrows or apply liquid eyeliner, or if she just wants to KNOCK ALL THE BRUSHES OVER AND CHASE THEM.

I get a touch annoyed when Gilly's little paw swats my mascara brush out of my hand making my face look like an abstract painting, but she's just a cat, man. And while I may not know what it's like to want to KNOCK ALL THE BRUSHES OVER AND CHASE THEM, I am certainly no stranger to the complex interplay between driving impulse and higher level cognition.

Which is what I'm guessing is going on in Gilly's kitty brain. And right now, as I stare at the economy sized bag of candy Paul hid from me and which I have found, attempting to quell an overwhelming urge to EAT EAT EAT, I feel this bond between us.

A bond made of suppressed urges, of nature fighting against lofty dreams.

Or something like that.

grilled cheese fail

Sometimes when you're Paul, you go to make yourself a grilled cheese sandwich and you forget about it because you're watching Glee and then it turns into this blackened hockey puck and your wife is all "did you forget about something?" and then you have to throw it away.

sunday looks like this

There are blocks and a rocking horse and you play ring-around-the-rosie and then you read a book and when you are holding Julia in your lap she gestures toward your chest and asks "boobies?" and when you nod in the affirmative she asks "do they have milk in them?" and you figure fair is fair and you say "no, do yours?" and then you play blocks some more.

Love.LOVE.LOOOOOOOVE.

sometimes i am good

Sometimes what you really want is a pint of Ben and Jerry's new flavor Boston Cream Pie but you don't want to walk to Frank's and also you don't want to be bad and eat like a gazillion calories of ice cream so you have a lemony popsicle instead.

And it's good.

It's just not Ben and Jerry's.

the bastardization of pineapple

Paul: Have some pineapple, Andrea.

Andrea: No, thanks.

Paul: You should have some. It's nature's candy.

Andrea: Candy is nature's candy.

Paul: No, candy is a man-made bastardization of nature's true candy.

Andrea: You can't bastardize something that had to be created separately.

Paul: Fine. Candy is bastardizing the flavor of fruit.

Andrea: Fine. Enjoy your non-bastardized pineapple.

i find love with a deodorant

I just broke up with my old deodorant.

It was a long time coming. I mean, don't get me wrong, I smelled good and all, and I was relatively sweat-free to boot, but I just wanted...a change, or something.

You might know that I have issues with lady deodorant scents. I think they're ridiculous. This might be out of character for me, since I am kind of unabashedly girly in other areas of my life, but the fact that just because I have lady parts I am forced to choose between scents like "mango-passion-feeling-flower" and "blooming-rose-teardrop-sparkle" really makes me want to punch something.

So, for the last forever, I have been sticking with Dove Cool Essentials Green Tea and Cucumber. It smelled nice, and the scent name didn't make me want to smash anything. But sometimes you want more from a deodorant than a mere failure to produce violent tendencies, right?

I mean, the old fire was gone. When I stepped out the shower and swiped my underarms, it had become so routine, you know? There was no magic, no gleeful sniffing, no shouting for Paul to COME SMELL ME BECAUSE I SMELL AWESOME.

We were trying to work through things when, one fateful afternoon shopping at Target, I spotted it. Dove had released a brand new scent: Refreshing.

How.....REFRESHING!!!

I removed the cap, wafted the bar under my nose, I sniffed, and.....

Heaven. Sheer, delightful, REFRESHING heaven.

"PAUL!!!" I shouted, not realizing he had long since moved several aisles over, "COME SMELL THIS!!!"

I smiled apologetically at the family inching nervously past me, clutched my new-found love to my chest, and dashed over to Paul, waving the bar of deodorant over my head like a trophy.

And I haven't looked back. My parting with Old Deodorant was amicable. I think we both would like to remain friends. And we're not ruling out a future reconciliation. The nice thing about breaking up with a deodorant is that since it's an inanimate object, there aren't any feelings to hurt.

Now I keep waiting for Paul to notice how amazing I smell. He hasn't said anything. Probably playing hard to get. I think tonight I might try doing the classic arm-over-the-shoulder move combined with a standing stretch, something to get the nose-to-armpit ratio just right, you know?

Oh, deodorant. I love you.

We're in the honeymoon phase. If I could make out with my deodorant without getting icky tasting stuff in my mouth, I totally would.

i think i'm going to have a lot of time on my hands

Hey. Guess what?

Guess who took her last (okay, only) final today? And guess who got an A on her paper?

And guess who gets to read something besides a textbook now?

No, not her! Why would you guess her?

It's me.

It's me for reals.

let's all hold hands and sing

So it's Mothers Day, see, and I'm just going to level with you right now and tell you exactly what kind of post this is going to be:

Mushy.

This is going to be a hold hands and sing, raise your goblet of motherhood, hug the person sitting next to you kind of post.

Just thought I should warn you. It might feel like you're sitting in the middle of a giant hot fudge sundae. And not everyone likes that. Now I'm hungry.

So. Mothers Day.

I'm not a mother.

Not in the traditional, push a human being out of your body kind of way, anyway. But maybe in some other ways, I am. Maybe Heavenly Father has given me an opportunity to rejoice in motherhood as a concept, as an institution, as a quality.

I don't think I can say that I've ever felt like a mother. I know what it is to be loved by a mother, and by a mother-in-law. And I've watched as my friends and family have become mothers.

It seems like there is this change, immediate and all-consuming, filled with fierce tenderness and overwhelming love and fear and joy and that is what I see in the face of my own mother, what I hear in the voices of my friends. A recognizing that there is a void, perhaps previously unknown, that is now filled.

And while I haven't experienced that yet, that feeling of responsibility for new life, I have experienced love. And I have been given newness, in the form of opportunities, both unexpected and sought out. And I've had to learn how to love those opportunities, how to develop and grow and become who I need to be right now. I think there's some mothering in that, in nurturing my present life.

I'm grateful for that, for learning to love my life, but I still want kids. It's kind of a biological thing, you know? I want to be sleep-deprived and to buy a stroller and to say things like "DON'T EAT THAT MARKER" and "YOU COULD POKE YOUR EYE OUT".

And I think Heavenly Father knew that about me, that I needed to be around kids,because I got asked to help out in nursery every Sunday and the other week as I heard myself say "PLEASE DON'T THROW THAT CHAIR" I smiled to myself and thought, maybe this is what it feels like to be a mother.

I think this is the part where I get mushy. It's just that I'm thinking of all you mothers who lend me your kids, who let me get hugs and read stories and say things like "PLEASE DON'T THROW THAT CHAIR". And I love you for that. There is this void in me, and it apparently can only be filled by tiny people. I need you.

And maybe you need me, too. Are you sleep deprived? Are you sick and tired of wiping and feeding and changing and bathing? Well, let me help. Being puked on is a novelty for me. Like a badge of honor. Don't feel bad for wishing for time away, for clean floors or extra sleep. I come to you, and you give me the mess, the chaos and sticky hands I need. And you, hopefully, can get some sleep.

Maybe you're not a mom, though. Maybe you're like me, waiting. Well, know what? If you ask me? You've got mothering qualities. Right now, you do. You have the ability to love, to bless, to serve and to nurture. I know those qualities or abilities might not erase the pain of wanting. Wanting hurts. But what I want you to know is that right now, at this moment, you are enough.

So, right now, I am not thinking about my future motherhood. I am thinking about the mother I am now. And it occurs to me that there must be something, something with the power to unite all current mothers and all potential mothers.

I think I know what it is.

Nutella.

See? Mushy. Now let's all hold hands and sing.

this is where we live

I would like to dedicate this post to my mom, who wants to make sure her daughter isn't living in some crack house with rats and cockroaches and a thug named Fist.

She got to see our last apartment, but she hasn't been out here for a few years, and since we just moved, I figured I should post some pictures so she can see just how rat and thug-free our current digs are.

See, mom? Not a rat in sight.

(I hope....)

**** Addendum****

My mom read this post and was most concerned that everyone would give her the Bad Mom Award for not visiting more often. So, I would like everyone to know the following: 1)my mom is AMAZING, and 2)she LOVES me. Sorry, mom.

from the f.h. secret files

Remember when I said that I knew I would love being married?

Well, that's probably because I spent the better part of my teenage years thinking, dreaming, planning and praying for marriage.

I know. I was an old soul.

Well, when I was approximately twelve and three-quarters years old and at a slumber party, I took it upon myself to compile a list of all the desirable traits I would be seeking out in a potential mate.

The list is hand-written, on lined paper, and encased in a red paper folder. I have entitled the list "F.H. Secret Files" (F.H. standing, naturally, for future husband), and at the top of the list I have included the essentials: my name, the date, and my age. For posterity.

Right about now, as you fight between feelings of embarrassment, pity, and delight, you're probably wondering how many items are on my list.

I'll tell you:

One hundred and twenty-two.

I have, of course, marked with a star those I considered to be of particular importance.

Now, some of you may have heard about this list. I'm pretty sure, though, that none of you have actually seen it. And I KNOW that Paul hasn't seen it.

But today, since it is our anniversary, and because I love that an unabashed geek like me got to marry the dreamy football player, I am posting five items from my list.

1. GREAT kisser- very important (I hadn't yet been kissed, but I figured on liking it once I had.)

2. Can sing to me when I wake up in the morning (please keep in mind that my movie diet consisted almost entirely of musicals. I just figured that was normal.)

3. He has to sing in the shower (what was I going to do if he didn't? sheesh, again with the musicals. It took me a few more years to figure out that musical-reality and actual reality weren't the same. Yes, it was devastating.)

4. He must never buy me a blender (I wish I could go back in time and tell teenage me just how sexy a nice blender actually is. I think she'd change her mind.

5. He must be strong enough to crush me, but gentle enough not to. (you probably want to throw up right now. That's okay. Go ahead.)

I'm not sure Paul knew what he was getting himself into.

I'm going to go lock up the list now.

a good nine years

Nine years ago, I woke up and it was my wedding day.

I had ramen noodles for breakfast and it was really beautiful outside which I told myself was because the universe was celebrating my impending nuptials and I took a nap and when I drove to my hair appointment I listened to Beck's Midnight Vultures.

And I walked down the aisle and Paul was crying and I was laughing and later, after rings and the cake that wasn't mine and dancing we crammed me and my enormous dress into the cab of Paul's truck and we drove home and it was our home, which was weird in a nice way.

Nine years later, the home is still ours, and ours in a nice way and it no longer is weird, even though this home is about three thousand miles away from the first one.

And while I am in no way where I thought I would be nine years after that day (kids? house? what else is grown-up-ish that I don't have?), I am entirely certain that I am exactly where I should be, and I am with exactly who I should be with.

Did I say that I am in no way where I thought I would be in nine years? I guess that's true, with one important exception:

I knew, knew beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I would love being married.

And I was right.

i am in no way qualified for this

This is how done I am with studying:

I am currently taking an online survey about disposable diapers.

I KNOW.

funny is funny

Sometimes when you're three, you want to dip your goldfishy crackers in water.

And when I say sometimes, I mean today.

Joseph started it. He put one of his crackers in his little Dixie cup of water and, beaming, looked at his mom and said "swimming!!"

Well, apparently, anybody who is ANYBODY does that with goldfishy crackers, because a few minutes later, Paul and I were saddled with about seven three-year-olds all dumping goldfish crackers in their water cups and laughing up a storm.

While it was really, really funny, (and we LOVE funny) we also don't want to get a bunch of phone calls from parents who are like "why did you break my kid? How come he/she won't eat anything unless it has been dumped in water?"

So, Paul decided to introduce a little discipline. He turned to Jonah, who had just carefully placed about thirty raisins in his cup, and said "no, no, Jonah. We don't put snacks in our water..."

And Jonah looked up and grinned and said...

"But it's funny."

He was right. Funny is funny.

show off

There was this girl at the gym and she was stretching and she was swinging her right leg back and forth like a pendulum or a metronome or something like that. I'm pretty sure I saw her toe touch her ear.

Show off.

a love not meant to be

I am in love.

I am in love with this cake plate. Look at it!! Just look at the punchy color, at its wavy-ness, at its adorable cake-plate-iness. I was blog browsing, and whilst perusing design sponge or cup of jo (I can't remember which), I saw this.

It calls to me. It says "Andrea, you love me. You want to take me home and make lots of cakes and love me forever. Also I cost a million dollars. That's not a problem, is it?"

And I'm like "uh....it kind of is a problem. Because I'm married and my husband might collapse if he knew about our secret love and he would SURELY collapse if he knew I was even THINKING about taking you home with me. Which, by the way, I am not." (that was for Paul. So he doesn't worry.)

Unless, when I am checking my pants pockets before doing laundry, I find a million dollars. If that happens, I am totally buying this.

Until then, our love can never be.

Sigh.

Also you can find this at www.iacolimcallister.bigcartel.com. I won't be jealous if you are also shot in the heart by cupid's cruel arrow.

I mean, how could you not be?

this is what we look like

Well, this is what we look like when we spend lots of time getting ready and then we have our super amazing talented friend Seth take our picture. We're just about ready to be approved for adoption, and we figured it might be good to have some recent pics taken of us.

Seth did an amazing job. You can see more of his work at kendraandseth.blogspot.com, or smootshoot.blogspot.com. Need an amazing picture taken? You should totally pick Seth. I mean, Paul hates having his picture taken (and when I say hate, I mean HATE), and Seth was able to coax this fairly positive expression out of him. How about that!!! See how Paul totally doesn't look like he wants me dead for forcing him to do this? That's all Seth, man.

I think this is the pic we'll use for our adoption profile. I feel like it's a fairly accurate representation of us.For example, we're clothed. And most of the time, we do make a habit of wearing clothes. We're smiling. Again, most of the time, true. Unless Paul is trying to make me eat vegetables, in which case probably neither of us is smiling.

Well done, Seth. We couldn't have done it without you!!